Fall from Grace, Rise to Glory
by Iced Blood
Summary: Always together, always faithful, always strong. We all know how Seto takes care of Mokuba. But one must wonder what happens when Mokuba is forced to take care of Seto. Now Complete.
1. With His Head Down

_**I wrote this piece in order to work out some personal emotional…issues over this weekend. In the spirit of that, I dedicate this short story to the memory of my grandfather, who passed away at the age of 70 on Friday, May 20, 2011, at 7:41 PM. Grandpa was a grizzled retired Marine who probably had no idea what anime even means, much less what it is, but I feel it to be the only proper thing to do.**_

_** So while you read this, think of a man who fought for his country, who held up the ideals of the United States of America with honor and courage, and who loved his family even if he didn't really know how to express it properly, until the end.**_

_** Semper fidelis.**_

* * *

He sat with his head down, almost between his knees.

He did not dress in obscenely expensive suits, but he did dress well. Especially for his age. Today he had selected black pinstriped slacks and a violet button-down shirt. He'd elected to wear the KC belt buckle, in spite of _everyone _telling him it clashed with just about everything he wore. He'd long learned not to care what people thought. _He _liked it, and that was enough.

A tiny little music player was in his hand, and he clicked through playlists until he found it. Booming bass guitar and snapping drums assaulted his ears and made him forget where he was. _What_ he was. Everything. A crunching, whirring guitar riff joined the cacophony, and everything slid into place with the opening melody. It wasn't the sort of music that normally visited the sterile silence of the mansion and gleefully murdered it, and so he used the headphones. It felt more respectful.

The music soothed him. There was a certain hypnotic sound to it, delicious in its oddity, so vastly unknown. He was, perhaps, behind the times, but he hadn't ever had much of a chance before. _He _didn't like such popular music. _He _found it to be rather crass.

He was breathing heavily, and his body was starting to move more fluidly. Eventually, as the song reached a higher vibrating intensity, he began to bounce on the balls of his feet, sending jabs and hooks at the air. As the gravelly, hauntingly familiar voice of the vocalist rang out in his ears, he leaped into a flying kick, landed and spun on his heel, hopping up and spinning his entire body in an airborne roll, pushing off the ground with one hand and popping back up onto his feet.

Finding a grin, Mokuba Yagami Kaiba straightened his shirt, adjusted his collar, and strode out of his bedroom with a spring in his step. Gone were the sneakers and athletic shoes he'd worn in his youth; they'd been replaced by polished, gleaming dress shoes that clicked authoritatively on the hardwood floors of the estate. The staff saw him coming. A maid bowed deeply. "Good morning, Master Kaiba," she said.

"Morning, Kelly," Mokuba said, his voice not quite as deep as his predecessors', but smoother and more energetic. "How's your aunt doing?"

Kelly beamed at him. "All better!" she declared. "The antibiotics did their magic, and she's coming back home this afternoon."

"Excellent," Mokuba declared, grinning. "Doctor Wilkins came through, then, did he?"

"Oh, absolutely," Kelly said. "She said that he was wonderful. Attentive without being creepy. A hard balance to strike in the medical profession. Well…according to her, anyway. It seems like she's been conducting an experiment. You know, she's had six doctors in the past five months."

And so it went as he continued down the hall, greeting the people whose living revolved around keeping him comfortable, looking effervescently happy as each bowed and smiled to him in turn.

Then he made it to the room.

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Mokuba turned the knob and stepped inside. The room was nondescript, just like any number of rooms in that hallway, but it was perhaps the most important room on the grounds. He only trusted certain people to even set foot in it. Any number of would-be workers had been fired for entering this room without permission. When it came to this room, he was as much a tyrant as the man who'd called him a son. Just as much a tyrant as people feared he'd become in all things.

Two people were in the important room. One was dressed smartly in a sharp, pressed, dark suit. The other was standing in front of a mirror, staring. The smartly dressed one glanced at the door and bowed. "Mokuba-sama," she said.

"Kiko," said Mokuba, his smile softening, somehow dimming. "Stop talking like I've taken over. How often do I have to say it?"

Kiko bowed. "My apologies, Bocchan." She rose, the smile still on her face, and she reached for the headphones and music player when Mokuba took them off. "I'll be back to check on him in an hour. He's having a good day today."

Mokuba nodded. "Thanks."

And she left.

Mokuba approached the other figure. "How are you feeling, big guy?"

Seto stared blankly at the mirror, mouth slightly parted, his sharp face soft and inattentive. His hands were strangling his tie as he struggled to right it. For a moment, a ghost of his old scowl met him, and he grunted with irritation.

Mokuba smiled. "Here, Niisama. I'll show you again." And he took the tie from his brother's fumbling hands and smoothed it out. "You cross it over here, see? Then turn it back. Now, you flip it upward like this, and it tucks back down this way." He smiled up at his brother, who was still an inch or so taller than he was. "Do you remember the rest, Niisama?"

Seto mumbled something, took his tie and tried to finish the knot.

He eventually got it so mangled that his fingers were trapped, and he let out a murderous moan of fury. Mokuba ran a hand down the man's cheek, still smiling. "Shhh...it's okay. It's all right, big brother. No need to get frustrated. Here. Let me set it right for you." Seto grunted again. "Oh, hush. You just let Mokuba handle it, okay? No worry. We can practice again tomorrow. Now...see? Cross, turn, flip, tuck. Now, this way. See? Now it looks right, doesn't it? Just like those clip-ons I used to try to get away with when I was little."

Mokuba grinned at his brother, grey-violet eyes twinkling. "Remember my fifth birthday? I wanted to wear a suit, and Miss Hannah got me a clip-on tie? You got all offended and found a _real _one, and taught me how to do it. This is the same knot you taught me, Niisama. See? Now we just flip it again, and tuck it down, and just slip it in there..._voila!_ There you go! You're looking sharp today, aren't you?" He winked. "I'd better watch out. You might just steal Ren away from me, if this keeps up."

Seto grunted, but he looked pleased. He even managed what might have been a nod.

Mokuba kissed the man's cheek, then his right temple. "I love you, Niisama," he said. "You take care of yourself today, okay? Kiko will be in to check on you. If you need anything, you just call for somebody. We're all here to help you, okay?"

"Ngh," declared Seto.

"Good. I have to go now. I'll be back later." He waved, and saw his brother twitch a hand like he wanted to reciprocate. Blank blue eyes that had once held all the spitfire of an angry dragon stared at him as he left. "Love you, big brother," Mokuba repeated, then slipped out and shut the door.

* * *

_**I'm not used to writing a Mokuba older than 11. Nor am I used to writing a Seto who isn't in control of himself. Nonetheless, this story unfolded the way it did without much influence from me. I write organically, and tend not to question my instincts. Those instincts told me how their relationship was going to unfold this time around.**_

_** The song to which Mokuba was listening in the beginning of the scene is "Lowlife," from an upcoming album by Theory of a Deadman, and was another inspiration for this story. I will be updating regularly, and it will last for 8-10 chapters.**_

_** I'll see you next time, everyone.**_

_** Take care.**_


	2. You've Made Your Choice

_**Each chapter/scene of this piece was a bit of a catharsis for me, and I believe that it was this scene in particular that finally brought me around to writing it out, instead of letting the scenario float around in my imagination before dissipating into nothingness.**_

_** Let's explore.**_

* * *

He stopped at a flower shop and bought a white rose, grinning at the designer who rang up his order, even signing an autograph for her when she realized who he was, and he left looking positively buoyant in spite of the torrent of confusion and anger that welled up inside him whenever he visited his brother's sickroom.

Oh, sure, he wasn't sick. Not to _them. _They told him he was perfectly healthy, and he'd live a good long time just the way he was. Mokuba took exemplary care of the man, and that meant so much to everyone. It kept Seto-sama calm, knowing that his little brother was there for him. And calm was something the old Seto-sama had never been.

But Mokuba wasn't content with that. Not by a long shot, goddamn it. The mind of Seto Kaiba had once been a modern marvel; he had been a genius the likes of which hadn't been seen in God only knew how many generations. That mind had built the Kaiba Corporation from the ruins of the military empire it once had been. That mind had brought the Kaiba Corporation to the top of the pack, had crawled and scratched and climbed up the ladder with all the tenacity of a veteran soldier and all the ungodly ambition of a dictator.

And now...what was he?

A cripple. A nobody. A novelty that would never be seen in another newspaper headline until the day he died, alone and mangled and ruined in a bed that he didn't even feel. Mokuba had been a jovial youth; he'd grown up happy and carefree and he'd loved everybody. But he hadn't stood for this. No, not for this. You could do what you wanted to _him__;_ kidnap him, mock him, jeer at him, steal from him. Whatever. He could forgive. Niisama had taught him to stand up for himself.

But to have done this to Seto...no. He had _not_ forgiven.

The very first order of business for Mokuba's Kaiba Corporation had been brutally, archaically simple. And it had worked. He had run Industrial Illusions straight into a catastrophic grave. If Seto was a novelty, then Pegasus Crawford was an example. Strung up on a pike and left for the crows to pick clean, the bones of that devastated career were laid bare for all to see.

People had tried to get one up on Seto any number of times.

They didn't dare do it to Mokuba. Not anymore.

The young Kaiba drove a 2010 Corvette G6 the same striking, amethyst-on-storm-cloud color as his eyes. And as he slipped into it and headed down toward Westridge Community College with his white rose in the passenger seat, he forced the anger, the indignation, the _grief, _out of him. It had no place here. No power. No permission.

He parked next to the looming, square-topped LaMont building and headed onto campus proper, a pleasant smile on his face. People stared, people pointed, people giggled. People wondered why he was there.

"Is he attending, you think?"

"He's only fifteen!"

"So? It's not like he can't handle it; he probably got permission or something."

But Mokuba ignored it. He found who he was looking for sitting on a bench outside of the cafeteria, talking to a friend. Serenity Wheeler was a ravishing young woman, with none of her brother's rough-hewn street-brawler harshness. Her fiery red hair glinted magnificently in the summer sunlight, and even though she looked somewhat distracted, her delicate face made his heart jump into his throat.

He strode up to her. "Guess who," he said, still smiling.

Serenity looked up at him. "Mokuba," she said.

"Hi, there." He presented the flower. "Made me think of you," he offered.

Serenity smiled, and she took the rose, but she glanced back at her friend and all of a sudden Mokuba realized that all was not well. Expecting her to burst into tears and tell him that her mother was dying, Mokuba steeled himself. He'd heard that Missus Wheeler—not that she was still going by that name—was going through some health problems.

So convinced that this was the problem, he didn't actually hear her the first time.

He blinked. "I'm sorry? Did you—sorry, I didn't sleep too well last night. What were you saying?"

Serenity pursed her lips and looked irritated. "I said, we need to talk, Mokuba."

Frowning, Mokuba put his hands into the pockets of his slacks and raised an eyebrow. "What's up?" he asked. "Don't you like it? I'm sorry, I thought you liked roses. Didn't you say you...?"

He realized he was rambling and forced himself to stop.

Serenity sighed. "No, Mokuba, it's not that. I love roses. Especially white. But...but...this has to stop." She looked him straight in the eye. "I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore. I've been patient, and I've tried to understand. But..."

"Okay...I have no idea what you're talking about now," Mokuba said. "Did I upset you or something? What's going on?" His eyes narrowed. "What has your brother been telling you?"

"Nothing." Serenity sighed. "Nothing. It's not that." She looked back at her friend, then back at him. "It's about _your _brother."

Mokuba went stiff, and the smile dropped from his face so quickly that Serenity flinched. "I don't talk about my brother in public," he snapped. "Not since _The Inquirer _wrote that garbage about him being addicted to morphine."

"Mokuba," Serenity said, almost whined, "you're running yourself into the ground. As if it isn't hard enough for you to run KaibaCorp, you spend _so __much time_ looking after your brother! It's draining you. I can tell. I haven't even seen you since last month, and we haven't been out together since February."

Mokuba blinked. "Ren...you were visiting your mother for half that time. Granted, I could have visited if you'd wanted, but you said you wanted to be alone with the family. Besides, I called you plenty of times during that trip. And anyway, what's that have to do with my brother? And what do you mean, _this needs to stop?"_

Serenity shook her head. "I can't do this anymore. I can't watch you waste your life like this. You're taking so much energy, hoping for a miracle that isn't going to happen. He's gone. The brother you remember isn't coming back."

"I'm not eight anymore," Mokuba snarled. "I know full and well that it's a long shot, okay? But I'm not going to give up on it because it's taking a long time. Do you have _any _idea how long Niisama worked on his first Duel Disk before it was finally ready to test?"

"Mokuba..."

"Three years._ Three years,_ he worked on that thing. And that was a _toy._ Niisama is a person."

"That's not the point and you know it."

"Then I'd like to know what the point _is, _and why your little cheerleader over there looks like she wants to crucify me." Mokuba turned to the other girl, who indeed was looking more and more insulted at the way he was acting. "Something to say? Hm? Want to tell me how _stupid_ I am? Think I haven't heard it _enough_ times? I know that look. Spit it out, damn it."

She stared openly at him.

"Leave her out of this."

"Then leave my brother out of it!" Mokuba snarled.

"Mokuba." Serenity had turned stern. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. You're letting your brother take over your life, and I can't watch you do it anymore. I just can't. He's not here anymore, not really, and you acting like he's still perfectly normal isn't doing anyone any favors. It's just...it's...selfish. You need to make a choice, Mokuba. Your brother...or..."

Mokuba blinked. "Selfish..." he repeated, staring with his mouth open wide in astonishment. "It's...it's...selfish? _Selfish?" _And suddenly every bit of anger and resentment he'd ever felt was welling up inside him, crashing past the confident, happy facade and exploding out of him in a wave. "I wake up at 4 AM to make sure he gets a proper breakfast in the morning, because he doesn't like the chef's cooking! I stay up until 11 at night to make sure everything's in order and nobody has to complain that I'm only fifteen! I give to God only knows how many charities, I fund hospitals, I've fed orphaned children in Africa! I do _everything_ my brother ever did and more! I clear out my schedule on weekends so we can go out without being bothered, I take you anywhere you want to go, I tell you _everything! _I _give _you _everything! _When your mother first got sick, who made sure she got into the best hospital in the country? When your father died, who paid for the funeral? When your eyes started going bad again, who gotyouto the best specialist in the _motherfucking world? _And _you _call _me _selfish for taking care of my brother? _My brother gave his life for me, and I'll be __damned_ _before I don't do the same thing for him!"_

Serenity looked horrified. "M-Mokuba...I didn't…I didn't mean…" She stopped. "This...this is the problem. Listen to you. I can't...I just...You're too angry about this. You never calm down, you never look at this rationally. You haven't ever since I met you." She shook her head and turned away. "You've made your choice, then. Goodbye, Mokuba."

She handed him back the flower.

Staring at it, Mokuba realized that he didn't feel anything.

It was all gone. When he crushed the rose inside a fist, he felt no anger. No sadness. No...anything. And when he took out his phone and dialed a number, he felt no bitterness. When Joey Wheeler answered with a, _"Yo-yo, Moku-man. What's shakin'?" _he felt no relief.

"Hey, Joe," Mokuba said, sounding stunned but not feeling it. Serenity whirled on him. "Just thought I'd let you know. There's a self-centered, insensitive _whore _here at Westridge masquerading as your sister." He hung up, dropped the flower, and gave a stiff bow to Serenity and her friend. "My apologies for the mix-up," he said. "I don't believe we've met."

And he turned on his heel and stalked away. When he felt her hand on his arm, he pulled it away, looking back over his shoulder at her with a glare of such murderous fury that her own anger quailed, and she stumbled away looking like she'd honestly seen Seto Kaiba's heir and successor for the first time in her life.

"Don't touch me."

* * *

_**Transactional analysis is a therapeutic theory based on the idea that when we talk to people, it's a transaction just like any other. Just like how we expect money when we sell things, we expect certain things out of the people with whom we talk. If that transaction works, it's a functional conversation.**_

_** We run into problems when our expectations don't match up with what we actually get. Kind of like when we want a new television for Christmas and we get a sweater. That sweater could have been knitted with unicorn tails; doesn't matter. We wanted that TV. All this is to say, if Mokuba and Serenity had gone about this conversation with just the slightest shift in expectations…well.**_

_** But then, we **_**are **_**talking about a pair of teenagers.**_

_** Not to mention…Mokuba's kinda stressed.**_


	3. Don't Leave Me

_**This is a shorter section, unfortunately quite a bit shorter, than the previous two, and I'll be suitably brief in my notes; I've taken to updating this piece on schedule with another project, "Blue Eyes, Violet Eyes," and I will be continuing that trend. So look for a new chapter on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, until we're finished.**_

_** So here we go: part 3 of 10.**_

* * *

"He's resting right now," Kiko told Mokuba as he approached his brother's room. "He had a productive morning. A lot of excitement." She smiled, and Mokuba resisted the urge to slap her. He knew that he was in a bad mood, knew that it wasn't fair, and more to the point knew that this woman was not only the best of them but the only one currently under his employ who _actually_ _cared _about the broken shell of Seto Kaiba, but sometimes...like right now...the way she talked about him like he was an old, decrepit retiree with half a brain cell and one foot in the grave—it bothered him.

A lot.

"Thanks," he said. "I won't be too loud. He hasn't been sleeping well lately." He inched past her and opened the door. "Could you do me a favor, Kiko, and have a kettle of tea made up and put on my desk? I'll be an hour, I think."

"Absolutely, Mokuba-sa—Bocchan." She bowed, and left.

The room was still and silent, like a morgue. He strode over to one corner and turned on the stereo system. He'd set up the 3-disc changer with selections from his brother's favorite classical collections, and they seemed to soothe him when he was in his worst moods. Mokuba had found, over the years, that they soothed him as well. Losing himself in those sweeping scores, he felt closer to the man his brother had been. The man Mokuba had loved, adored, all but worshiped.

The man he still hoped existed, trapped somewhere beneath the haze.

Mozart today. Classic. Traditional. That was just fine. He walked over to Seto's bed, pulled up a chair, and reached out for one of his thin, limp hands. "Hey, big guy," he murmured softly. Seto was sleeping fitfully. Mokuba reached out and stroked his lank, sweaty hair from his forehead. "We'll need to clean you up," he said. "Bet it can't be too comfy, stewing in this room. It's hot in here, isn't it, Niisama? Let's change up the thermostat for you, huh?" He walked over to the wall panel, pressed a few buttons, and sat back down. "There...and let's pull down the blanket a bit, huh? We'll just keep the sheet right there. How's that, Niisama? Is that better? Yeah, that's better."

Seto didn't answer, of course. Not in words. But his expression slackened a bit, and he looked a bit more comfortable. Mokuba stroked the side of his face, a heartbroken little smile playing on his lips. "I'm...not so good," he whispered, his voice almost breaking. "I...I don't know...what I'm gonna do, Niisama. I really don't."

He leaned down, like he was praying, and felt everything catch up to him. Loss, anger, shame. Who knew what else? What the hell was the matter with him? How could he have lost control like that? In _public?_

"I didn't handle it like you would have," Mokuba said, feeling a tear trickle down his face. "I lost it, Niisama. I went off. And...and...I lost her. I threw her away. I just...I can't...I can't lose you, Niisama. I just can't. It...it would kill me." He fell to his knees on the floor, and leaned his head against his brother's limp hand, still held in both of his. "Don't leave me. Please, Niisama. Don't ever...don't ever leave me. I can't...I can't..."

The music crashed and whirled in the background, so vastly different from the song he'd had blaring in his ears that morning that it felt like the instruments were speaking a foreign language, and Mokuba Kaiba started to cry. He hadn't cried since Crawford. Seven years. He hadn't cried for seven years.

But he cried now. Broke down and sobbed like the child he hadn't been since he was eight years old, trapped in a dungeon cell and waiting for his Niisama to save him.

His only solace was that Niisama couldn't hear him.

* * *

_**I know it's getting pretty dark, sad and depressing; don't worry. I has plans. I have a goal in mind, and with luck, it'll all be worth it. So I'll see you Thursday, shall I?**_

_** Until then, take care.**_


	4. Dust on a Blackboard

_**Bad form of me to tell you guys earlier in the week to look for a chapter of this one on Thursday, then fail to deliver. Sorry about that. I got sidetracked last night, didn't get things in order when I should have. I hope I may be forgiven.**_

_** The odd thing about this story is that it flowed rather naturally, considering its experimental nature. I've never written a teenage Mokuba before, yet it seems to have worked out rather well. Maybe I'm stuck in the past. Maybe I've just read too many instances where Mokuba grows up to be a drug-addicted horn dog with a rebellious streak so bright and obvious that it could guide ships into port, and twice as transparent. I don't know.**_

_** Either way, I like how Mokuba grew up. Seems his brother taught him right.**_

_** Or maybe that's just me.**_

* * *

_It's been a while, hasn't it?_

"Oh, good God, shut your fucking mouth. This joke's gone on far too _fucking _long! Who the hell do you think you are, and why don't you _damn _well kill me? I'm not your puppet!"

_Come now, S—_

"Don't call me that, you son of a bitch."

_You know that there was a reason for doing this. I didn't do this out of rampant cruelty. I do nothing for such a pedestrian motive. You had to know. You had to learn. You had to _see. _I had to show you. And through these long, long years, you have seen, you have known, but you haven't learned._

"Get on with it."

_I knew that it would take an investment. I knew that it would take sacrifices. Make no mistake, S—_"I said not to call me that"—_you have performed magnificently. I am most pleased with you. I am happier than I had any right to expect with you._

"Oh, fiddle-de-dee, I'm _fucking _ecstatic."

_You are displeased with me. I understand. I'm sure, being unable to care for your own affairs offends your sensibilities. But you see? You see how well he steps onto your pedestal? How well he carries himself? Why, the corporation flourishes! Is it not beautiful, S—_

"Use that name one more time."

_Please. Do not deign to threaten me. I'm doing you a service! As I've said, you've performed most beautifully, and so I give you a gift. You have proven everything I had hoped you would prove. There is no need to keep you here any longer. And so—_

Snap.  
The first thing he saw was the ceiling of the room. He'd guessed for many years now what this ceiling looked like, but it turned out he had been wrong. Completely wrong. Looking around on a cricked neck that didn't feel real, he realized that he couldn't recognize this room for the life of him. The bare walls, the threadbare carpet, the ghostly white ceiling. A single window dominated one wall, but the curtains, simple-looking navy blue things that seemed tacked-on and superfluous, were drawn. The room was in darkness, and the only light came from the glaring buttons and numbers from the sound system in a far corner.

Hm. Mozart's 21st.

He sat up straight, tossed aside the bed-sheet covering the lower half of his body, and stood up. Glancing over at the closet, he walked over and opened it. He was somewhat surprised to find that it was filled with a variety of suits, and even more surprised when he took one out and found that it seemed to be the right size.

Grabbing a stark-white article, he raked the floor with raptor's eyes until he found a matching pair of shoes, and spied a belt hanging on a hook on the inside of the door. Grabbing everything, he strode over to one of the two doors.

In the bathroom, he slipped into that odd, comfortable routine. He grimaced at the state of his hair, scratched at the stubble on his sharp chin, and stepped into the shower. As scalding hot water pelted a body that hadn't moved properly for almost a decade, he reveled in the sensation of _feeling _something. It was transcendent, and he felt the guilt and the shame of seven long years slough from him like chalk dust on a blackboard met with a wet sponge. The lethargy burned out of him and the invalid died, crumpled and discarded on the floor, drained out of him with the grime.

He stepped out, dried himself, assaulted his stringy hair with a pair of scissors, attacked it with a comb, and once it looked like a reasonable facsimile of what it should have been, he took a razor and handled the five-o-clock shadow that was the final mark of his long descent.

He dressed quickly, mechanically, remembering as he went for the tie the trouble he'd had with it the previous day. A wan smile visited his face, which sharpened into a bitter smirk as deft, learned fingers swept through the motions of long practice.

He polished the shoes before putting them on, donned the jacket, and left the room. The other door opened, and a maid he didn't recognize entered, looking so supremely uninterested in the situation she expected to find in the room that it took her a long, _long _while before she noticed that not only had this room's sole inhabitant left his bed, but he was striding over to the full-length mirror next to the closet with swift, sweeping strides that hadn't been seen on this estate for years.

"Get my car," he snapped at her. "I have an appointment."

Staring open-mouthed, the maid didn't move. "S...S...S-S-S...Se..."

_"Go!" _he demanded in a voice like lightning, and fire met his eyes.

She rushed out of the room, dropping the hand towel and bar of soap to the floor in her haste to escape.

Seto Kaiba turned back to the mirror, adjusted his tie, and chuckled.

* * *

_**You didn't think I'd let him stay that way, did you? Come now, I'm not **_**that **_**cruel. Actually, I'm worse. I dare you to figure out what he's going to do now that he's out. It probably isn't going to be all that pretty.**_

_** But then, what involving Seto Kaiba ever is?**_

_** I'll see you guys again this weekend.**_

_** Take care, and be good to one another.**_


	5. Dogs on a Leash

_**This summer has proven more sporadic and on-and-off busy than I anticipated. It's strange. That is to say, I have failed as a person and your weekend update eluded me. I hang my head in shame. Kidding aside, I'm really sorry about that. I've been working extensively on another project ("Cult of the Dragon King").**_

_** We have business to cover. Last chapter, Seto came back to himself after seven years. The most pressing question is…what does he do? Well…let's find out together, shall we?**_

* * *

Joey Wheeler was a picture in conflict. His messy blond hair clashed horribly with the suit he was wearing—he'd apparently just gotten out of jury duty—and in his light brown eyes was a torrent of sympathy, confusion, and raging fury. His fists were clenching and un-clenching, and it looked like he was torn between hugging Mokuba and sending one of those fists straight through his teeth.

Mokuba didn't know that part of it had to do with just how fundamentally _dead _his expression looked. His own grey-violet gaze was blank, desolate, and would have looked far more at home on his brother's face. He stood straight, and his hands were in the pockets of his slacks, and if anyone else had looked at him, they would have seen a perfectly normal—and sharply dressed—teenager talking to a friend.

But Joey saw more. And so did Mokuba.

"What the hell's going on?" Joey demanded, looking between his sister and his surrogate brother—if Mokuba had ever heard the blond say that, he would have been thoroughly disgusted—and obviously torn between them.

"She asked me to make a choice," Mokuba said blankly, nonchalantly, as though it had no bearing on reality anymore. "I choose my brother. If Miss Wheeler has a problem with that, then I have a problem with her. Are we done? I was supposed to be at a seminar half an hour ago."

Joey whirled on his sister. "You asked him to _what? _Did you ask him to choose you over his brother? Over his own _family?"_ It was clear that Joey was not only angry at this idea, but actually insulted. Mokuba felt his spirits rise the slightest bit. For her part, Serenity flinched at each syllable, looking like she'd never seen her brother before.

_"No!"_ she wailed. "I was asking him to choose to live his own life! He's been slaving over the man for almost eight years now, ever since I met him, and it's going to kill him!" She looked at Mokuba pleadingly. "I wanted you to choose _yourself!"_

Joey looked back at the young executive, looking like he almost expected Mokuba to be pleasantly surprised by this. With that came a certain amount of indignant anger, and he said, "Mokuba...did you let her explain that? Did you let her finish before you just…went off on her?"

But Mokuba was the exact opposite of pleased. A searing hurricane of rage rushed through his veins and set his entire body on fire. The blaze flared in his eyes, and they both took a step back. "…You know what? You go ahead and feel proud of your baby sister 'cuz she's so mother_fucking _thoughtful, but if you expect me to think _that's_ any better than the alternative, then you're as delusional as every other sheepin this city."

"…Seriously, Mokuba? You're gonna talk to me like that?"

"I'll talk to you however I _damn _well please," Mokuba snarled, and for the first time since they had met, Joey actually sawa bit of Seto in his brother's face. "You seem to have this misguided idea that I don't realize what I'm doing. You think I don't know what kind of damage I'm doing to myself, and that I need to be stopped." He shook his head. _"Idiots._ Both of you. I thought you knew me better than that." He scoffed and turned away, staring off in the direction of KaibaLand, the amusement park he'd built the previous year in deference to Seto's wish to help the orphans of his city. "If the time comes when I have to choose to live my life for myself, or live it for him…then I live it for him. Always for him."

"I understand you're family," Joey said, his tone suddenly softer. "And I know you love him. But you have to admit, he was…kind of a dick. Not to say he deserved any of what he got!" the blond added quickly, throwing up his hands as Mokuba whirled on him, looking like he wanted to pull a gun and blow his head off. "I don't mean _that_. But…he wasn't Father Teresa. Even you have to admit that."

Mokuba stared at the blond for a long time, as if trying to figure out if he was real or not. Then he started forward, fists clenched white-knuckled at his sides. "You know what I have to _admit?_ That man gave up his life for me. Not just the fucking soul card," he snapped at Serenity, who had been about to speak. "Both of you, _shut it _for a minute. Or did you not notice I was talking?"

Joey frowned again. "Watch it, Mokuba."

_"Don't talk to me like that, you fucking maggot!" _Mokuba howled with rage. "I'm a _fucking Kaiba, _and it's high time _you _watched it! Shut up and pay attention: my brother was 'kind of a dick' because he had no other choice. How easy do you morons really think it is to run a multi-billion-dollar conglomerate _and _raise a child _and _go to school _and _stay at the top of the professional gaming circuit?"

Joey sighed. "No harder than what you do, Mokuba. And you never act like Kaiba did. Not even right now, although you're comin' pretty damn close."

"Then I guess I'm not trying hard enough," Mokuba snapped. "I'm sick and _goddamned _tired of people treating me like a child while simultaneously expecting me to act like an adult. I don't need you telling me how I should act. I don't need you telling me what I should live for. _I _decide what I live for, and if _I _decide to live for my brother, then you'd damnwell better _deal with it _or stay the _fuck _away from me. I don't have the time to explain myself to you."

"Mokuba…I'm your friend," Joey said. "I don't know what it's like to live like you do, but trust me when I say I know what it's like to have a hard life. Okay? Nobody's treating you like a kid. You wanna know the truth of it, you're more of an adult than half the people I know, and that includes God only knows how many relatives I've seen at family reunions 'at're in their fuckin' sixties." Joey stepped forward. "If Ren didn't love you, she wouldn't'a said anything. She wants you to be happy, man. That's all."

"If being happy means sacrificing my brother, then I won't do it," Mokuba declared with a distinct sense of finality. "You don't get it. You still don't get it. _I don't care. _I don't care what I have to sacrifice, I don't care what anybody does to me or what happens to anyone else. If it makes my brother's life just the slightest bit better, I'll do it. He raised me since I was born. He gave up his life for mine when he was eight years old. I _will not _spit on that sacrifice."

"By wasting away your life on him, you _are _spitting on his sacrifice!" Serenity cried. "He wouldn't want you to do this! You know he wouldn't!"

"Don't you tell me what my brother would want," Mokuba growled.

"Mokuba…if Kaiba loved you half as much as I think he did…she's right."

"It's not about what he wants," Mokuba said stiffly. "It's about what he deserves."

Joey started to speak again. "Damn it, Mokuba, that _still _doesn't…oh, _fuck…"_

And his expression suddenly turned sour, as though holding back bile. Mokuba turned around to follow the blond's gaze and saw two people stepping out of a convertible sports car. One had short-cropped brown hair; the other had a heavily gelled black ponytail. The former was dressed in khakis, a black button-down shirt, and a dark brown duster coat. The latter wore black leather pants and a sleeveless black shirt. Both wore combat boots.

Tristan Taylor was holding what looked like a baseball bat.

Duke Devlin crunched the knuckles of one hand against the palm of his other.

_"Hey!" _Tristan shouted. "Kaiba!"

"Oh, _fuck, _Ren," Joey breathed. "You told _them?"_

"Who the _fuck _do you think you are?" Duke demanded.

Mokuba strode forward, eyes narrow and all need to talk diminished. Never mind explanations. The time was gone for negotiation. He felt Joey's hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him back, but Mokuba was stronger than he looked, and he pulled away easily, clenching his fists at his sides.

Tristan raised his bat, and the world stopped turning for a moment.

A blur of white pushed past the young Kaiba, there was a sickening, squelching _crack,_ and suddenly Tristan was howling not with anger, but agony. He was on his knees the next moment, and the moment after that his head _smacked _against the pavement of the parking lot. The brunette's bat sailed through the air and caught Duke across the right temple with a _clunk _that echoed in Mokuba's ears. And just like that, bare moments after it had made itself known, the threat was quelled.

For the second time that day, Mokuba fell to pieces in front of his brother. Seto Kaiba's blazing cobalt eyes turned to Joey and bore into his skull. His hair wasn't as clean and styled as it once had been, his suit was slightly rumpled and his breathing was far harsher than it ever had been, but…but he…

He was…_alive._

"Keep your dogs on a leash, Wheeler," came a seething, meticulously arrogant voice that hadn't been heard in seven years, "or I'll put them down permanently."

* * *

_**Teenage Mokuba may have anger issues, but they're nothing compared to his brother's. Part of this project's purpose was to explore the negative aspects of the Kaibas' personalities, and one that came out rather quickly was anger.**_

_** Whether I personally believe they're justified in that anger isn't really important. Truth be told, in spite of the fact that I love them dearly (they've helped spur my creativity so many times, it's unreal), I **_**don't**_** think they're justified. Not nearly to the point that I've written them. That, too, is part of the point. I don't agree with all the choices they make.**_

_** That's part of the creative process. When it comes to certain characters, you have to let them do what comes naturally to them, whether you as an author like it, agree with it, or not. Part of what makes a character real, part of what makes them wonderful, is their flaws. Celebrate them. Embrace them.**_

_** It makes these people human.**_

_** And that's perhaps the most important thing any writer can do.**_


	6. Reduced to a Prisoner

_**I said before that this entire project was a catharsis. That is to say, all throughout this piece I've been venting. You might have caught onto the fact that each of these scenes has a particular emotion associated with it. Or at least, that's what I was aiming for, and that's what it elicits in me. **_

_** This scene is no different.**_

_** It was also my first chance to see if I could write a 24-year-old Seto Kaiba, who still thinks like a 15-year-old kid.**_

* * *

"K…K…_Kaiba?"_

Seto stared at the blond like he'd never seen him before, his raptor's gaze sweeping up and down at Joey's suit. "It's so cute when they try to dress in grown-up clothes," he muttered. "Off to a big, important meeting, Wheeler? Going to cut a _big deal? _Always advisable to make a good impression."

So stunned at the sight of a man who—for all intents and purposes—had died seven years ago, Joey Wheeler forgot to be offended. But if he looked stunned, then Mokuba was having an all but religious experience, and the look on his face was so far _beyond _stunned that one may as well have said that Alaska was a touch north of Mexico.

"Oh, my God…" Serenity whispered, sounding horror-struck.

Duke was unconscious, and Tristan was groaning. Seto reached down and snatched the brunette up by the collar of his coat. _"Hlgk!" _he grunted as he stared blurrily into the elder Kaiba's face, as sharp and angular as it had ever been, carved with lines of anger and resentment.

"Would you care…to explain to me…what you intended to do to my brother with _that?" _And he kicked the bat with one foot. When Tristan just stared, Seto shook him once, hard, enough to make him cry out in pain. _"Talk!"_

"…I…h-he…with…"

Seto let out a disgusted scoff and threw Tristan to the side, sending him crumpling back to the ground. "You know the funny part of all this," he said, "is that I was assured that Mokuba would be taken care of." He sent his glare to Joey, who flinched. "By _your _best friend, no less, was I _promised _that you were good people. That you were kind, and giving, and protective. That you would look after him, that _you _of all of them would make sure he was safe. And what do I find? Your _idiot _friends, looking to beat him to a pulp, and _you _too gape-jawed stupid to do anything about it."He stalked toward the blond, without looking at Mokuba. He seemed too hell-bent on his prey. Mokuba turned into an absurd position, not wanting to take his eyes off his savior but forgetting in his shock that his legs could move.

"H-Hey…Kaiba…listen, I…I didn't have nuttin' to do with…with that. I didn't…I would'a stopped 'em." Joey had decided that answering the accusation would be preferable to letting his mind dwell on the myriad of obvious questions. "Swear."

Seto sneered. "Yes. Your word is such a valuable commodity, considering the company you keep. Are you so inhumanly stupid that you think I don't _know? _You think my brother didn't _tell _me what they did to him? The constant threats when they first started dating? The attempts to sabotage him, the _hazing, _the jeering and shouting and primeval _strutting? _Is that _funny _to you, Wheeler? Is that acceptable to you? _Is it?"_

Serenity squeaked, as though she were trying to speak but had found her vocal chords unwilling to accommodate her. Seto leveled his eyes on her, and she realized that no matter _how _angry Mokuba _ever _got, he would never match up to the sheer hatred emanating from this man's entire being like heat distorting the air above a desert highway.

_"What?"_ he barked.

"That…isn't fair…" she whimpered, finding herself reduced to the mousy little introvert she'd been so many years ago. Before she'd met Mokuba.

"And who the _fuck _are you?" Seto demanded, his voice slathered with such disdainful condescension that it actually burned. Joey seemed to puff up, and he put a hand forward as though he intended to grip Seto by the collar and threaten him, but Seto's reflexes—not at all sluggish for their eighty-four months of inactivity—were sharper than shards of broken glass, and he snatched up the offending appendage and _crunched _it into a vice grip. "I have been an invalid for seven years, Wheeler," he muttered, still staring at Serenity. "Seven years I have been reduced to a prisoner in my own body. Do. Not. Test me."

"Kaiba…f-_fuck, _man…let…go…!"

Seto threw Joey's hand away.

He stalked back to Mokuba, standing between them and him as though a bodyguard. His hands were in the pockets of his stark-white slacks. He said, his voice soft and distant and full of venom, "Once the shock has passed, you will come to believe that my seven years as a vegetable have taught me nothing. That I am just as much the arrogant maggot-infested slab of misanthropy as I was when I was fifteen, and you will marvel that Mokuba has spent so many years of his life caring for such an empty, bitter, unfeeling bastard."

Both stared at him.

Seto looked over his shoulder at them. "You will conveniently forget that I—unlike you—am intimately familiar with what Mokuba has been internalizing for those seven years. What he has hidden from you. And most importantly, what you have done to him." He seemed to be speaking to Serenity now, having forgotten that Joey even existed. "You leveled an ultimatum. _You _declared that _you _could not handle the relationship as it currently stood, in direct spite of all he's done for you. All he's given to you, all for which he has depended on you. You have taken the heart of a boy whose worth so far outshines your own that it is insulting for you even to _look _at him, and stomped it into the dirt. Count yourself inexorably lucky that I don't kill you."

He put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

His entire being transformed. His voice was light, gentle, his touch warm and comforting. And he said, "Come with me, Mokuba. We're going home."

And Mokuba, for his part, transformed as well. Gone was the self-sufficient head of the Kaiba Corporation. Gone was the boyfriend, the surrogate sibling, the celebrity CEO, the billionaire tycoon. In those things' place was a fifteen-year-old boy; just a fifteen-year-old boy like any other, reunited with a parent he had not seen for half of his life.

Mokuba choked back tears of purest rapture, and he whispered:

"Yes, Niisama."

* * *

_**Funny how they slip into the old routine, isn't it? Part of it probably has to do with the fact that each of them is acting just as the others expect. Easy to fall into habit when that happens.**_

_** As mentioned, I wanted to showcase the negative aspects of the Kaibas' personalities, show where they came from. Here, we see that Seto's protective nature leads him to be quite confrontational. I don't think it was an empty threat when he counted Serenity lucky that he's going to let her live.**_

_** Not an empty threat at all.**_

_** This man is dangerous. I love him, he fascinates me, and continues to inspire me, but he's dangerous. And it would do well for all of us to remember that.**_


	7. They Want Revenge

_**This piece of work is an odd one; it's not often that I deal with such…raw material, I guess. I don't know how much of it comes through in the narrative for you guys, but when I look at it, I see quite a bit more emotion than I'm used to seeing in my own work.**_

_** I suppose that's to be expected.**_

* * *

When Duke Devlin and Tristan Taylor were fully conscious again, they found themselves not in a parking lot, or at home, but tossed unceremoniously onto the couch in Joey Wheeler's front room, staring at a television screen on which played a TV quiz show. The sound was muted; captions were on.

N$XT QU#STION%, it declared, as an elderly host smiled maniacally and the contestants all looked at each other like they wanted to murder each other, WHAT S THE bIRTH NAME OF& POPPP STR—

They turned and looked around. Tristan saw that Duke had a horrendously bulbous black eye, and Duke saw that Tristan's nose had spouted blood like waterfalls down the bottom of his face, and it had dried in a crust that made it look like he was sporting a crusted, scaling red beard. They looked around and watched Serenity come out into the room with a bowl of hot water and a white hand towel. She looked at them with an apologetic smile.

When her brother strode in after her, however, they suddenly realized that they weren't going to have a good day. Joey had removed his suit and was dressed in what was now his standard weekend attire: work boots, faded grey jeans, and a sleeveless black shirt that displayed his prominently muscled arms to great effect.

He didn't actually look at them when he said, in a voice that cracked like quiet thunder, "I want you two to know that you embarrassed the _shit _out of me this afternoon. I dunno _what _the _fuck _you thought you were gonna do, assaulting the richest man in the fucking city."

"We…heard how he…how he…"

Joey finally looked over, and the look on his face stopped Tristan cold. "I don't want to hear it. Shut up and listen to me. The next time you butt into business ain't yours, _I'm _going to send you two to the goddamned hospital. You understand me? Whatever fight Ren had with Mokuba has _nothing _to do with you. You guys think you're sly, and you think you're gonna move in on her now, but I got news for you: _no."_

"Joey," Serenity said, as she walked over to Tristan and handed him the hand towel to clean off his face. _"That_ isn't your call."

"The _fucking _hell it isn't!" Joey snarled. "I can't keep you from replacing Mokuba with one of these idiots, but I can _damn_ well make their lives miserable for it." He glared at his friends. "I love you guys, you're like brothers to me, but sometimes you're so goddamn stupid it makes me wanna puke."

"Anybody ever tell you you're a condescending prick?" Duke snapped.

"Anybody ever tell you fist-fighting with a three-time black-belt billionaire's a fucking _mistake?" _Joey replied snidely. "Three seconds against a Kaiba 'n you're flat on your fucking backs. It's cute you wanted to upholdmy sister's honor or whatever the hell you thought you were doing, but take a look in the mirror when you wanna gauge how well you did."

And now they looked sheepish.

Tristan, his face now reasonably clean, slipped the towel into the bowl of water and looked down at his feet. "Yeah, that was pretty embarrassing," he admitted. "Butcha gotta admit, he got the jump on us. I mean, fuck. Who knew Kaiba was gonna _wake up? _Guy was a fuckin' vegetable. Couldn't tie his own shoes!"

"You guys don't really hang out with Mokuba," Joey said, "so you wouldn't have any way of knowing, but you—with your numb-fuck strategy of announcing your arrival and giving him time to prepare—wouldn't have lasted any longer against Mokuba. The hell do you think he does when he's talkin' to Kaiba at night? Sit in a chair and monologue? He trains. Hard. Last time I tried to test him, I'm pretty sure he cracked a rib."

He moved his arm just so, and winced.

"I know I'm 'only seventeen,'" Serenity said softly, but sternly, and they had a feeling the two Wheelers had rehearsed this particular speech, "and I appreciate what you guys were trying to do. But that doesn't give you the right to be vigilantes. If you think I'm ever going to give you the time of day because you 'beat down' anybody who treats me badly, you need to rethink how life works." She stood up, leaving the bowl in front of Duke and glaring most particularly at Tristan. "I don't think you understand. I was upset, and I lashed out at him, and he lashed out at me. I'm pretty sure our relationship is over. That _does not _mean I hate him, or even remotely dislike him. Mister Kaiba may have been…cruel about saying it, but he's right: Mokuba is a _wonderful _person. You had _no _right to treat him like that."

"I wouldn't suggest doing anything else about it, either," Joey added, and now they _knew _it had been rehearsed. "Kaiba's back to life after this long. He's antsy, he's protective, and he's pissed. You guys come anywhere near Mokuba, he's liable to kill you." Tristan had the temerity to half-scoff at this. Joey raised an eyebrow and said, "Three seconds."

"Don't you dare," Serenity warned Duke, who was looking indignant. He flinched and stared at her with his good eye. "Do you hear me, Duke Devlin? Leave them _alone. _I don't want to hear _anything _else about you two trying to harass Mokuba Kaiba _or _his brother."

Joey was shaking his head. "Don't bother, Ren. They aren't hearin' you. All they hear is, they got beat. They want revenge. They wanna regain their honor. Prove they're men or whatever retarded shit. I'm gonna warn you right now, you two. If you so much as _look _at Kaiba right now, _Mokuba _is likely enough to kill you. And he's got the resources and the balls to get it done. You think I'm lying, I want you to remember what happened to Crawford."

Duke flinched violently.

Tristan stared.

Serenity was standing now, and she'd walked over to the window to look out at the street. "I can't believe I said that to him," she said. "He's right, you know. He's done so much for us, Joey. Both of us. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have this house. And I…I…"

"Let him cool off," Joey said. "He's a good kid. Let him cool off, fall on the sword, and I'm sure he'll forgive you." He made a cutting gesture across his throat as Tristan started to speak. "Make no mistake, Ren. You screwed the pooch on that one. You don't know, and I don't blame you for not knowin', but I've heard from Yugi and I think _I_ know well enough: askin' Mokuba to choose himself over Kaiba is about as insulting a thing you coulda said to 'im. I know what you were tryin' to do, and it's a good thing. But like he said…he don't care. See if you can't accept that. If you can, I don't think you guys will have much of a problem after a while."

Serenity looked at her brother and smiled. "I think it'll be okay," she said, "no matter what happens."

"Why's that?"

"Regardless of what anybody's done today," she explained, "I don't think I've ever seen Mokuba look so happy."

* * *

_**I had an interesting time working with the theory that Seto hasn't been around for 7 years in this storyline, so a lot of events in the anime didn't actually happen. Battle City, KC Grand Prix, that virtual reality thing right after Duelist Kingdom (the last two are filler, I know, but still).**_

_** I wonder how Serenity and Mokuba met, and how their relationship started. Either way, I suppose this chapter kind of proves that it was founded on something solid. Maybe there's hope for them, after all.**_

_** Though considering Seto…I'm not sure.**_

_** I'll see you all next time.**_


	8. Okairinasai

_**You may have noticed that each chapter of this piece is named for a line found in each scene. You also may have noticed that a lot of the emotion in this particular work is rather fundamentally negative.**_

_** I stuck with the former tradition, but decided to tweak the latter.**_

_** This is what happens when—frightening as it is—Seto is happy.**_

* * *

The estate's primary staff was gathered on the lawn when the Kaiba brothers pulled up through the front gates, Mokuba in his dark purple Corvette G6 and Seto in his metallic blue Bughatti Veyron. Both vehicles were gleaming and shining in the sunlight like chariots for urban kings. Kiko watched with baited breath as they stepped out of them, Seto in his glowing white suit and Mokuba in deepest midnight black. The boy's hair was pulled back into a braid, his collar open and the silver chain of his locket clearly visible around his neck.

The way that they walked was identical, but the expressions on their faces—like when they'd been younger—were directly opposed. While Seto's face was sharp and irritated, Mokuba's was bright and worshipping. For the first time in seven years, Mokuba looked like a child; and for the first time in seven years, Seto looked like a Kaiba.

Kiko, knowing the effect it would have on Mokuba, bowed deeply and cried out with an exuberance that—while authentic—was a touch overdone (she knew Bocchan hadn't been doing well, and thought to cheer him): _"Okairinasai, Seto-sama!" _Following her lead, the other staff members bowed, saluted, inclined their heads, and they all called out that same greeting, either with the same tones of glee and relief of Kiko or soft calm; but in seeing that they were all exuding a sense of absolute honesty—for all his faults, Seto _was _the head of the Kaiba family, and they were all relieved to have him back—Mokuba's expression brightened even more, and he looked like the very personification of euphoria.

For his part, Seto's expression actually brightened as well. He said, _"Tadaima," _and all eyes turned back to him. Surprised and relieved, they parted to let him pass into the front doors. Two men in dark suits opened them and waved the brothers in.

Seto removed his jacket. Kiko took it for him. He took off his tie and unbuttoned his collar, and another staff member took the strip of cloth and bowed. Removing his cufflinks and putting them into a pocket, he folded up the sleeves of his shirt; this he did with mechanical efficiency as he strode through the halls. "Understand something," he said as his employees all followed him, seeming to understand that he expected it of them. "My brother has taken over this house in the seven years that I have been incapacitated. He has kept me informed of events, and I have come to understand that those of you who remain in this house's employ are kept in his utmost confidence." He turned and looked at them; ten individuals, standing straight and still as soldiers. He turned to Mokuba, who was still staring at him as if unsure whether he existed or not. "Mokuba, if I were to resume my previous position as head of this house, would you permit it?"

The young teen blinked, and nodded slowly, almost catatonically. "…Uh-huh."

"In that case," Seto said, smiling slightly, "I will be going over the financial status of this estate. I understand that Mokuba has been taking rather exuberant care of you over the years." Indeed, Mokuba had told him how much he was paying them, and had laughed as he'd done so, admitting that Seto would probably have been caught in a dead faint to see just how much. For the first time, the group looked crestfallen—though they hid it well—sure that Seto would be cutting back. But he said, "Considering just how well Mokuba has been taking over for KaibaCorp, I am sure that this will be no problem. Each of you will be receiving a pay raise for your faithful service to my brother. If it does turn out that I am unable to accommodate such an act—" he said this dismissively, as if sure that it would not be a problem, and the part of Mokuba still able to think smirked as he considered just how much a pittance it would be considering the state of their personal finances "—then I am certain that a hefty bonus will still be more than possible. You all cared for my brother when I was unable to do so. For that, there is no gratitude I could offer that would truly express it. I hope, thus, that financial security will be sufficient."

The crestfallen looks transformed to expressions that would have been far more at home on children on Christmas morning. Mokuba would understand later on, when he was coherent enough to truly comprehend it, that in this simple action, that Seto had clad these individuals' loyalty and service in iron for the rest of their lives. Any negative thoughts and feelings they had ever harbored for the man who had become their employer once again, had no bearing on anything anymore.

They bowed. "Thank you, Seto-sama!" they said, each in a different tone and a different timbre, but all with the same expression of absolute shock and delight. .

"In return for this," Seto continued, "I hope that you all can do something for me." Mokuba was beginning to regain control of his own thoughts, and he knew that he could have asked them to lick his shoes and they would have done it. All knew that when Seto Kaiba offered a pay raise—the rarest of events—it was more than substantial. "I wish for your help in a very particular matter of the utmost importance."

The stern way that he said this made the grins fade into somber expressions not unlike warriors about to head into battle for a favored leader, eager to express their loyalty. Seto, for his part, looked darkly serious, as though fully prepared to ask them to do just that.

"My brother has worked tirelessly to keep the Kaiba Corporation thriving in the seven years I have been gone, and has spent countless hours caring for me when outside of work. I have very clear memories of these hours. Regardless of what I may have looked like or acted, I can assure you that I remember everything. And so…" Mokuba blinked, wondering where Seto could conceivably be going with this. "…I want you all to make absolutely sure that, for the following month at the very least, my brother does _absolutely nothing _that could ever be construed as work. I intend for Mokuba to have a vacation, quite a lengthy vacation, and I expect your cooperation. Will I have it?"

Mokuba's stare turned stunned and all but stupefied.

Ten faces split into childish grins again, and each of them saluted as a single body, and they cried: _"Yes, sir!"_

* * *

_**A notion that I don't think the gang understands, and one I've believed for a long time, is that Seto takes care of his employees. Money, to him, is a means to an end. He isn't looking for the biggest house and the best cars (though he probably ends up getting them anyway), and he isn't looking to hoard his wealth so that he can build a tower and swim in gold coins.**_

_** He uses it to get what he wants, yes, but that is not material.**_

_** It's influence. Results. Loyalty.**_

_** The people who work for him do so because he gives them the incentive to do so. He's a perfectionist, and it's a bitch sometimes to work for him…but the golden rule of Domino City is that, if Seto Freaking Kaiba offers you a job, you take it.**_

_** Because working for a Kaiba means you're set for life.**_


	9. A Modern Marvel

_**I usually have no idea what I'm getting into when I start a new project, and I think this story exemplifies the idea. When I started it, it was the vaguest of notions that didn't have any sort of direction, any endgame in mind, any…anything. Just a scene in my head of Mokuba practicing flashy martial arts moves while listening to music.**_

_** It…kind of got away from me after that, and culminated into this.**_

_** There is an epilogue to this, and I'll be posting it in a couple days. But in all honesty, this is the swan song. This is the end of the story, the finish line if you will. So while it may be the second-to-last chapter, it's the conclusion. This is the message I was trying to give when I wrote this piece.**_

_** Through the worst, through the most draining, the most trying; through everything, these two brothers manage not only to survive, but thrive. They rise to the occasion, every time, and every so often the world rewards them for it.**_

* * *

He stood in the bedroom that had once been Seto's, that he had claimed for his own on his tenth birthday, and Mokuba Kaiba could hardly comprehend what he was watching. How long? How long had he secretly wished for this? How long had he prayed, night after night, for a miracle? For his big brother to just wake up one day and…be _alive _again. For Mokuba to look into his eyes one day and have that same disdainful misanthropy shining through and incinerating the blank lethargy.

How long had he waited, hoped and begged?

Seven years.

Seven long, draining, godforsaken years. Years without protection, years without guidance, years without support. Years in Purgatory. But Mokuba was a Kaiba, and he had taken those years and wrought out of them everything he conceivably could, had transformed the Kaiba Corporation from the rising star his brother had made into a worldwide phenomenon. He had transformed the Domino Children's Home into something resembling a resort, had taken hold of a decrepit old warehouse and crafted the land into an amusement park that received so much business around the clock that he could afford without the slightest discomfort to allow every resident of that Children's Home free admission for the rest of their lives.

He had risen to the top of the professional gaming circuit just like his brother, he had taken hold of KaibaCorp and taken it skyrocketing into prosperity just like his brother, he gave to charity just like his brother. And he did it all without a single complaint, without a single hand out for help, without a single misstep. He was a prodigy. A star. A modern marvel.

Just like his brother.

And now…as if God Himself were rewarding him, as if the past seven years had been a test and he'd finally passed. As if he'd proven himself to some otherworldly judge that had seen fit to place him under surveillance, here it was. What he'd begged for, what he'd prayed for, what he'd cried and scratched and clawed for.

"Niisama."

Seto was looking at the room. At the mahogany Sauder desk; the Herman Miller Aeron chair; the leather-backed volumes placed neatly in a single, tiny bookshelf situated at his left hand whenever he sat down; the Sony LBT-ZX66i stereo system; the Panasonic plasma television, the PlayStation 3, the XBOX360, the Wii, the Sony Vaio laptop; the framed and mounted poster of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon on one wall; the framed and mounted portrait of Seto himself on another; the bed, the nightstand, the paperwork.

He turned to Mokuba with an unreadable expression on his face. He murmured, thoughtfully, "It seems you've gotten everything in order." He winked. "I'll have to find myself a new place to set up shop."

Mokuba looked horrified. "No! No, Niisama, you don't have to! I'll move everything!"

But Seto was smiling. "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "This is your sanctuary now. This is your place now. I wouldn't dream of depriving you of that. Not after all you've had to sacrifice, and after all you've had to live up to." He gestured wide, grinning. "It has been bequeathed, Kaiba-shachou." If anything, this only made Mokuba's face go even paler. "I…have never been prouder of you. You were forced into a situation no one your age should ever have to face, and you did it with grace and integrity. You did it with honor, with tenacity." The grin on Seto's face reached his ears. "You are magnificent."

He held out his arms, and Mokuba all but collapsed into them, holding onto his brother as though he couldn't stay upright without help. When the tears started again, they were silent. His knees gave out, and Seto led him over to his chair. The elder Kaiba kneeled down in front of him. Mokuba wiped his eyes and gave an embarrassed grin. "I feel like I'm seven again," he stammered. "I told myself that…that when you came back, I would…I would…hold myself together."

"Don't worry about that," Seto said.

"But…"

"No. You did well, little brother. Now it's my turn."


	10. I Love You

_**Consider this the epilogue. This is the endgame, folks. This story is now at its close. I sincerely hope that you enjoyed reading it. I think I learned a lot in the course of writing Fall/Rise. This is only the second time I've tried writing Older Mokuba, although he's only about four years older than I usually write him. There's still a rather huge paradigm shift at work, and it was interesting to explore.**_

_** And so you can also consider this a return to the status quo.**_

* * *

It was past midnight.

Seto Kaiba sat in his old sickroom, and for the first time his laptop computer was actually in his lap. He concluded that in a few hours he would find a new center of operations and furnish it properly. Looking around at his current surroundings, he realized that they felt…cheap.

And in these surroundings, _he _felt cheap.

He set the computer down, stood up, and left the room. Walking down the hall and slipping inside through the open door into the room that _had _been his own, he somehow managed to be unsurprised when he saw Mokuba awake, staring at the paperwork sprawled over his desk. Several cans of Mountain Dew were scattered on the floor.

Hip-hop music blared out of the boy's obscenely expensive stereo system, making the floor shake. "I hate finals," the young Kaiba muttered when he sensed his sibling's presence.

Seto smirked. "I thought I made myself clear, Mokuba," he said.

"Niisama, I _can't. _Not now." He looked up and there actually seemed to be tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I _really _am. I know what you're trying to do, and I…I appreciate it. You have no idea how much. I _want_ to just…let you take over for a while. But right now, I just…I can't…"

"Sleep, Mokuba," Seto said, gesturing to the bed. "I'll hear no argument. Do you understand? Sleep. You don't have to do this alone anymore. I refuse to allow you to do this alone anymore. _We'll _handle this in the morning."

"But I have a conference in the morning and—"

"How can you possibly expect to focus on studying with that mentality?" Seto asked shortly. "You're a Kaiba. If you need time, _take _it. If you need leeway, _make _it. If you need help…I'm here. You go to school. Focus on your exams. Leave the rest to me."

"I can't do that."

Seto raised an eyebrow. "I do not recall making a request, Mokuba." The boy blinked, staring. "I am your guardian. I am responsible for you. If I don't want you doing something…you don't do it. And if I _want _you doing something…you do it. Now. Go to bed. We'll work this out in the morning. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

"…Yes, Niisama."

He didn't seem to want to admit just how relieved he was to be saying those words again. He stood up, walked over to his bed, and began to lift up the covers.

"Brush your teeth," Seto said without looking at him. "Brush your hair, and dress in something suitable. Do I have to remind you of everything? Ah—no argument, Mister. Let's go. Chop-chop. I'll make breakfast in the morning, then we're both going to that conference and I'll show you how it's done."

Mokuba slunk over to the adjoining bathroom, trying to hide a grin.

He shut the door.

Seto reached over and shut off the music as he waited for his brother. He stood, quiet and contemplative, for fifteen minutes, his thoughts surprisingly, surreally slow. Dressed in his old clothes, standing in his old bedchamber, reclaiming his old role, the elder Kaiba found himself slipping oh-so-seductively into his old thought patterns.

He stopped himself.

He could no longer afford to think like a sixteen-year-old child with a God complex. He was a twenty-four-year-old adult, and no one was going to have sympathy for his seven years outside of his own body. If he was going to reclaim his life…he had to adapt. He had to fight. He had to scratch and claw and bite and force his way back to the top.

Where his brother stood, resolute and tired, battered and alone.

It struck him that Mokuba was more of an adult now than he had ever been.

"The dawn of a new age," Seto muttered.

Mokuba came shuffling back into the room with his hair sopping wet under a white towel, dressed in blue silk pajamas. He sighed, glancing at his desk. Seto raised an eyebrow, and the younger Kaiba stepped over to the bed, climbing inside. "I can't afford this," he said softly.

"Quiet. You sound like me."

"When I fail my History final, I'm blaming you."

"You do that."

Seto walked over to his brother's side, tucked the covers around him, brushed his wet black hair from his forehead and kissed him. Mokuba squirmed away from him. "Niisama! I'm not a baby anymore!"

"An adult wouldn't be embarrassed," Seto said. "Now shut up and sleep. I love you."

Mokuba smiled, and for a moment he looked like the tiny boy that Seto remembered.

"…I love you, too, Niisama."

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**Yes. I'm an out-and-out sap. What can I say? I like happy endings, even now. Like "Twist of Fate," the first story I ever put a substantial amount of work into writing (not that it shows) so many years ago, I knew when I started the story that things weren't going to stay like this. However, where Twist took a cheap way out, I like to think that this piece followed a logical progression.**_

_** I knew Seto was going to come back.**_

_** For those of you who have been wondering over the course of this story who put Seto through this, and why it happened, your guess is as good as mine. I don't actually know. I have a couple of theories, but nothing concrete, and I'm going to keep it that way.**_

_** Let me know who **_**you **_**think is responsible for this. **__**And whether or not, in the long run, it was worth it.**_

_** I had a lot of fun writing this, and thoroughly enjoyed sharing it with you.**_

_** Yet again, I appreciate you letting me take time out of your schedules to share my musings on a couple characters that continue to fascinate me, nearly a decade after I first met them.**_

_** 'Til next time, take it easy, everyone.**_

_** Thank you.**_


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